A Mistletoe Match For The White Duchess (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  “I understand, Father.” She paused, torn between wanting to respect her father and her promise to her cousin. “With the utmost respect, Father, I simple wanted to let you know just how upset Henrietta is at the thought of being wed to Mister Downey, for you know how she was all but left at the altar for a merchant’s daughter not long ago and…”

  She got no farther for her father interrupted her.

  “Henrietta to wed Mister Downey? Wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

  Nonsense? How is it nonsense? We could not possibly have gotten Eliza’s meaning so wrong, could we?

  “His daughter, Miss Eliza Downey, told us her father was here to secure a betrothal to a young, noble woman, given that he is a widower. She told us that you had promised to assist him and that you knew just the right girl for him. One in need of a husband and from a titled family. Given Etta’s situation…”

  Lord Lincester shook his head. “You assumed it was my intention to solve my brother’s financial quandary by making a match between his daughter and my business partner. No, Isolde. While it might have indeed solved some of the issues, it would never occur to me to make such a match. My brother despises the merchant class and no matter how bad his finances are, he’d never agree to such a match. And Henrietta, while I love her dearly, is simply a terrible match for Mister Downey.”

  He rose and stepped away from his desk. The Viscount was tall, standing at more than six feet and towered over everyone he met. He could be quite the imposing figure for he was not just tall, but broad shouldered as well. To Isolde, however, he was always her loving father.

  Right now there was something on his face she had not often see. Reluctance. Even perhaps an uncomfortable anticipation. She felt her stomach tighten as he approached her, leaning against the edge of his desk while facing her with his arms crossed.

  “Mister Downey’s wife passed away not long ago and he is indeed searching for a new companion. However, he would never find happiness with someone as rambunctious as Henrietta. No. He needs someone who is calm, understanding, quick to comfort. Not just for him, but for his children too. The young boy especially.” He paused and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  “What Mister Downey and his children need, is someone like you.” He paused while he let Isolde take in the information.

  Me? I am to wed Mister Downey? How is that possible? No! No! I shall not. I will not. It is all wrong.

  “But Miss Eliza implied that… “

  “Miss Eliza only knows that her Father is to wed a young lady from a titled household. She, just like you, must have assumed Henrietta was the one.”

  Isolde rose, her legs shaking. She held onto the back of her chair to keep from falling over. “Father, I do not wish to wed the man. I do not know him! I do not care for him. And he is twice my age. Please, Father!”

  He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “I will not hear of such foolish complaints, Isolde. He is a perfect gentleman. While you may not know him well, I do. He is trustworthy and he will make a wonderful husband for you. Besides, we must also consider your age. “

  Isolde froze. She knew her father had to have concerns regarding her lack of a suitor, but he had never spoken of them. She had assumed that he would be happy to have her on the shelf, perhaps take a position as governess as many unwed women from well-to-do families did. For her father to force a husband on her had never entered her mind.

  “Father, I do not need to wed. There are other options for me.”

  He shook his head. “Isolde, you are the daughter of a Viscount. It is expected both by society and myself that you wed and bear children. I understand those closest to you in age have yet to wed, but keep in mind their circumstances. Henrietta will have a husband soon, now that a proper dowry is being provided. Olivia has her choice of suitors, she has simply been allowed to be too picky. Both will be wed soon and now, so shall you. In fact, you shall be wed before them if all goes well.”

  “What do you mean? When is this wedding due to happen?”

  Her hands shook both with anger and despair. She longed to run, run away to Jonathan at once to tell him of the news. They were just beginning to explore their feelings for one another and now she was meant to be wed to another? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

  “Mister Downey would like to be wed in the springtime. He hopes to arrange for a match for his daughter and have a wedding take place for her later in the fall. Thus, a springtime wedding for the two of you would be favorable. It would also allow for time for you to get to know one another.”

  Isolde shook her head. “Does it matter if we get to know one another? You make it sound as though the decision is made and I have no choice in the matter.”

  Lord Lincester sighed and shook his head. He pushed himself away from the desk and took his seat once more. He rubbed his temples, his eyes closed–a familiar sign that the conversation was coming to a close, no matter what else Isolde had to say.

  “Isolde, I will not force you to wed Mister Downey, but I trust that you understand what your refusal would mean. He is my business partner and a match between the two of you would secure not just your future but mine and your brother’s. Suffice it to say, if you refuse it would greatly damage my relationship with him. Franky, I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you would welcome the chance to wed a wealthy, successful man such as himself.”

  Isolde pressed her lips together. Anger and despair both flooded her thoughts and feelings in equal measures.

  “I did not refuse, Father. I understand what it would mean. I simply wish I had been consulted before …” she paused and shook her head.

  Consulted? What am I thinking? I am fortunate that Father has not ordered me to wed. Many other noble girls do not even get that courtesy.

  “I only ask that I be allowed to think it over without pressure for a while.”

  Lord Lincester folded his hands together.

  “Very well. You may have until Twelfth Night to think it over. Mister Downey and his children will be joining us periodically over Christmastide, so you may get to know him better. Perhaps that will help you come to the right conclusion. Now, I have business to attend to, and I am sure you will want to rush to Henrietta to assure her she is not being forced to marry into the merchant class as appears to be her worst nightmare.”

  Isolde rose, said her goodbyes and left through the door.

  Not only Henrietta’s worst nightmare. Mine now too.

  * * *

  “North!” She called out to the butler who was passing down the hall, on his way to the dining room. He stopped when he heard her voice.

  “Yes, Miss Gordon?”

  “Has the Duke risen yet?”

  “Indeed he has. He and Mister Gordon went on an early morning ride. I believe His Grace has returned to Chesterton Hall for the morning and will be joining us again for dinner.”

  Isolde nodded, thanked North and turned on her heels. She broke into a run as soon as North was out of sight.

  Not to Henrietta’s room. No. Her cousin would learn of her good fortune soon enough. Right now, there was only one person Isolde had to see. She raced to the stables and removed her horse from the pen, much to the stable boy’s surprise.

  Atop the horse, she raced through the forest, brushing against snow-covered branches with such force she created a miniature snow storm in her wake. She fought the tears but they were too strong and forced their way from her eyes. She felt the salty water run along her frozen cheeks and wiped them away with the sleeve of her pelisse. Yet, the more tears she wiped away, the more appeared.

  At last, she saw Chesterton Hall up ahead. A carriage was pulled up outside the house and she saw a man walk toward it.

  “Your Grace!” she called out, her voice shaky from the cold and the shock. “Your Grace!”

  He climbed into the carriage and a coachman shut the door. If the carriage departed before she reached him, she’d need to carry the news of the dreadful t
urn of events with her until evening. A thought that made her feel quite ill.

  Finally, the coachman took notice of the approaching rider and stopped the carriage which had just begun to move. Isolde saw the coachman step up to the carriage to announce her arrival. She jumped off her horse and rushed to the carriage where the coachmen had just opened the door for the Duke.

  “Your Grace!” Isolde said loudly when the man turned. She stopped as if struck by lightning and stared at the man before her. To her utter surprise, the man she saw standing before her in the snow was not the Duke at all!

  Chapter 16

  Jonathan poked his head out of the carriage door and saw Hastings standing there, his head tilted to one side as he spoke to someone.

  “His Grace is very busy.” he heard him say.

  “What is it, Hastings?” Jonathan called out. The old man turned to him and opened his mouth but before he could say another word, the sound of someone shuffling through the snow made Jonathan turn his head.

  “Your Grace, please. I must speak to you at once.”

  Jonathan climbed out of the carriage and found himself face to face with the woman he’d shared the most incredible kiss of his life with.

  “Miss Gordon?” He saw the distress on her face the moment he was close to her. Her breathing was rapid and he noted with surprise that she was wearing neither a cap to keep her head warm nor gloves. Her redingote was not buttoned and he could tell from the redness upon her face that she had to be frozen.

  “You look as though you are an icicle! Come inside at once and warm yourself at the fire. Hastings, have the butler bring us a hot cup of tea for Miss Gordon, and have the coachman stand by, for we shall have to delay our departure.”

  “Very well Your Grace,” the old man said with a nod as he left to attend to his orders.

  * * *

  Jonathan led Isolde inside the house and through the grand parlor to the drawing room where a fire roared in the fireplace.

  He positioned her close to the fire, taking the redingote off her and handing it to a maid. He took a blanket from the settee and wrapped it around her shoulders which were shaking, along with the rest of her body.

  “My dearest Isolde, what is the matter? You are in distress, and not simply because of the cold.”

  She looked at him with her brown eyes wild and wide.

  “Faith, Jonathan, I have had terrible news from my Father. We were mistaken in thinking my Cousin was to wed Mister Downey. It is me who is to wed the old man–me. Not Henrietta.”

  Jonathan dropped his arms in shock and for a moment did not have the capacity to even respond.

  She is to wed that old man, Downey? How can it be? No, certainly not. Not when I have just discovered my feelings for her. It cannot be true.

  “Are you certain? Have you spoken to your Father or…?”

  She did not let him finish. Shaking her head, her loose hair flew about her face in a rapid manner.

  “I have! I saw him this morning. I promised Henrietta I would seek him out and ask him to re-think his choices so we may stop the betrothal. When I told him of my concerns, he informed me that I had misunderstood his intentions. That it is I who is to wed.”

  Jonathan sat on the settee, his face buried in his hands. What a nightmare. What could be done? He shook his head and looked up to see her staring into the fire.

  Their eyes met when she turned and he could see the despair upon her face. He rose and walked to her, cupping her face in his hands.

  “Do not fret, Isolde. We shall find a way. You shall not wed Mister Downey, I will make sure of it. Do you trust me?”

  She blinked twice at him and then a small smile appeared on her face as she nodded.

  “I do, Jonathan, I do. But I do not see how you intend to stop it from happening.”

  He let go of her face and paced up and down the drawing room, his hands folded behind his back. Momentarily he was startled by how much he reminded himself of his father, for his father had also often walked this way when mulling a difficult question. Jonathan had called it his father’s thinking walk.

  He licked his lips as he thought and then stopped, turning around quickly to face her.

  “I shall speak to him and tell him that I wish to court you. Certainly, he would much rather his daughter court a Duke than a merchant, do you not agree?”

  She stepped away from the fire and sat, her eyes focused on the floor.

  “I should imagine he would, had he known it was an option. He and Mister Downey already made an agreement. If he breaks the promise, it could have dire consequences for their business, especially now as they are expanding further. If he loses his business the entire family could be ruined. My brother may inherit the Viscountship and lands, but the money …and my Father just promised to furnish a dowry for Henrietta so she may wed well. And without the business that too would go away.”

  “Perhaps,” he sat across from her, one leg resting upon the other, “it would not be as dire as that. Perhaps Mister Downey would not take it badly?”

  She looked up at him and shook her head resolutely. “To be told you may wed the daughter of a Viscount, only to be cast aside for a noble? When so many of our class look down upon the merchants? I do not think he would take it well. His daughter has already expressed a dislike of the aristocracy, and I am certain she is taking after her Father.”

  Jonathan nodded. She was right. There had to be a reason the man wanted to marry into a titled family after all. It was his experience with the rich merchants in India that despite their wealth, many still craved what was so difficult to attain, the respect of the upper class. And titles of their own if possible, or at least an association.

  No, his going to the Viscount and asking to allow him to court his daughter, when he already had an arrangement with another, would simply not work.

  “My dear, I will think of something. Has your Father given you any indication on when he wants this courtship to commence?”

  She leaned back; color had returned now to her pale face after warming herself at the fire. A cup of steaming tea had been brought and placed by her side and she was presently stirring a lump of sugar into it.

  “He has given me until Twelfth Night to think on the matter. Although it is not as though I truly have a choice. If I refuse, it will be our ruin. If I agree…” she did not finish the sentence but instead lifted the teacup, balancing the saucer on her lap.

  “I will take care of the matter, Isolde. Perhaps, if you are able, you could persuade your Father to extend his deadline somewhat, for I may require more time to find a solution.” Ideas on how to resolve the situation swirled in his mind, though Twelfth Night was less than a month away.

  “I will do my very best, Jonathan.”

  “Thank you. And please know, a solution will be found. For there is nothing I want less than to see you wed another. Not when we have just found each other, and the affection we have in our hearts for one another is growing.”

  She blushed at his sentiment. He knew quite well that it was unusual to make such declarations outside of an official courtship. He had already kissed her, had already all but declared his feelings for her. In light of the latest development, he wanted to be certain she knew what was in his heart.

  “I am grateful you feel this way about our association.”

  With the matters of the impending courtship resolved as best as they could for now, he decided to discuss another subject. The events of the previous night.

  “I trust you were able to return to your chambers unseen?”

  Finally, she smiled at him with that smile he had grown so fond of.

  “I did. I encountered one of our maids. I often stroll the halls when I am unable to sleep, thus it was of no great suspicion. But what of you? How did you escape the stables?”

  He sighed and shook his head at the memory of it all.

  “It was quite eventful; I will have you know. Your groom cornered me with a pitchfork just as I was about to mak
e my escape.”

  “Faith! A pitchfork! Of all things to be confronted with. I am so sorry! I trust no amount of training in fencing prepared you for a duel with a pitchfork.” She sounded rather amused more so than upset.

  “Certainly not. It was a terrible frightful event and I shall be having nightmares for the rest of my time on this earth, I assure you!”

  He was only glad that their little banter helped restore her spirits somewhat. He knew the news must weigh heavily on her mind, but for now there was nothing he or she could do, and thus his focus was on making her feel easier and lifting her spirits.